Comments about Ian Bowen

It is the first thing I do in the morning. I log on Poemhunter and look for the nugget of joy, sorrow, nature, real life. Heart tugging moments, pure elation, a bird's eye view of the world. All seen though Ian's eyes. I think he is the best of us. He is an inspiration and a pretty cool muse! Thank you for all the comments and considerations, Ian. The bright spot in my day.

I'm delighted to comment on Ians work here on Poem Hunter. He is the sort of poet I always single out as having a unique and entertaining perspective. Poems full of imagination and poems unrivalled in their diversity. A true 21st century poet who writes with an imaginative flair, unrivalled honesty, and charming imagery. I much admire your work and talent Ian, and I am in absolute awe of the quantity, consistency and quality of your output.
Best Regards
Steve

I am a great fan of Ian's poetry. He has a way of expressing his thoughts, whatever the theme. I would recommend anyone taking a look at Ian's work, I'm sure they won't be disappointed.
I echo Will's words.

Ian Bowen's poetry moves through concrete, particular images to the universal. Whether he writes of boyhood or of his mature years, a constant theme emerges - deeply felt experiences, expressed compactly in in vivid, utterly convincing detail.

A Poem About Nothing

I want to write a poem about 'nothing' (not an easy thing to do) . I want to describe the emptiness that I've found since I lost you. The crashing waves of ecstasy will me missing from my verse. There will no expletive adjectives or headless-chicken curse. The glorification of life's scenery will be omitted from this page. I will not mention the 'seven wonders' or some ancient, historic age.

I will simpy be negative and just scribble what comes out. Leave you hopelessly pondering...

Clarence The Artist

Each rain soaked cobblestone reflected a midnight moon as total darkness hid between the close, claustrophobic walls of alleyways. A single stage rattled to a stop.The smokey breath of stallions, cut through the evening chill, twirling upwards like some forest fire. A bag, full of different shaped knives were lifted from inside the carriage, wrapped in the leather of the bovine dead.